Sir
by Lapis Love
Summary: The world we live in doesn't always come in shades of black and white. When you're a worker of one of the oldest professions in the world, inhibitions are checked at the door, as well as your real identity. He had as many names as I did, but he only wanted me to call him by this one all night, Sir. AH/AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, I just got an urge to write this down because I saw something on Tumblr, and I can't even remember what it was really that inspired this. I can tell you right now, I only plan for this to be three or four chapters long, and hopefully I can bang this out within a week. This is WAY AU, just a fair warning. Thank you so much for reading this. Enjoy!**

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

In my world the only rule is, there are no rules. And because of that, it's prompted me to make some of my own. Never have regular customers. Feelings get involved, people grow attached, then lazy, and then entitled. Never tell them anything real or truthful about yourself. Getting to know me, the _real_ me is never apart of the deal. They wouldn't be able to handle the truth regardless. Don't ask questions about where I was born, my family, what schools I attended, and my future dreams and aspirations. I don't have any, and if I did, you'd be the last person I'd ever tell.

Always protect yourself. A girl in my profession can never be too careful. I might dole out a particular brand of service, didn't mean everyone was entering this deal with one goal in mind, and if you aren't going to play my way—you_ will_ get shanked.

_Always_ get paid upfront. Some like to boast about the dollars that line their pockets, and end up blowing more smoke out their ass rather than living up to the hype. Don't waste my time or yours because you will inevitably have to explain your broken nose or busted knee to your wife, girlfriend, significant other. I do not play. And this was the most important and golden rule:

Never

Ever

Under any circumstances

Or duress

Fall

In

Love.

Those are the rules of engagement ladies and gents. Let us begin.

* * *

Two nervous, sweaty, and slightly callous palms rubbed together while a pink tongue moistened dry lips. Repeatedly he checked the time on his David Yurman time piece feeling the anxiousness coiling inside his belly wanting to explode. He jumped up on his feet, crossed over the deluxe luxury suite to check the pail to make sure the ice hadn't melted, and that the bottle of Dom Perignon was nice and chilled. On a table next to the champagne were chocolate covered strawberries. He wasn't sure if she liked strawberries or not, but what woman didn't like chocolate covered strawberries?

He frowned in contemplation. Maybe this was a bit much. Maybe this was too romantic. He didn't necessarily call her up to romance her, and she wasn't in the business to do much romancing herself. He shook his head suddenly feeling very foolish and very juvenile like he had never partaken of this kind of transaction before. No he should get rid of the strawberries but keep the champagne.

But…but she was so different. He saw her profile online and nearly fell in love with her on sight. Which was ridiculous now that he's thought about it. However, she was so beautiful with that mane of chocolate hair, and those viridian eyes that looked playful and serious simultaneously, and she appeared to be far classier than the other women on the website who dressed and posed provocatively hoping to ensnare someone like him. A lonely businessman with more money he could spend in several lifetimes unable to find a woman to stimulate him not just physically but intellectually as well.

He had exchanged a few emails with her, and she didn't automatically inquire after his penis size or demeaned herself by saying she was a fucking filthy slut that wanted to fuck hard all night. She merely asked him what he was in the mood for. Conversation? A doll to be paraded around at some boring and stuffy function? A tension reliever? A massage?

Sex hadn't been one of the options to choose from and that gave him pause. Maybe she was hoping he might take the lead on this since he had a triple platinum membership, which spelled he was one of their valued customers. Nevertheless he invited her for a drink and conversation at the Riverside Manor which was located forty miles due east of where he lived. The manor was really an upscale mansion that had been converted into a hotel that catered to a clientele that fell within a certain tax bracket in the late nineties.

Once he made the reservations, and emailed the information, he asked if she required anything in particular. All she replied with was: you'll know its me when I knock on the door three times.

He didn't know what to expect really. The one thing he could say about this website he belonged to was: the owners were about discretion and they were about running background checks on all parties involved. He felt secure that as she entered and then left whatever secrets he might end up exposing would be safe between them. But, he had no such plans to divulge anything about himself. He wasn't a long way from home, but he was far enough away to convince himself he was in another state, another country, and that he didn't have to be…

Three knocks sounded on the door.

His stomach plummeted to his toes before it climbed its way up his chest before getting lodged in his throat.

He crossed the suite to the front door, but paused and checked his reflection. Still perfect. He frowned. He had a face that could grace fashion magazines; the kind of face women fantasized and drooled over, some men as well. It was a face that changed over the last thirty-three years he's been alive from cherub-like innocence, to boyishly cute, to ruggedly handsome, to wickedly hot.

It was his eyes though that made most women cream their panties and he was hoping his eyes would have the same effect on her.

Cupping a hand over his mouth, he blew into his palm, and checked his breath. He could still detect a faint hint of toothpaste and mint flavored mouthwash, but that would become obsolete the second he popped open the champagne, and drank half the bottle to calm his nerves.

Clearing his throat, he looked out the peephole—just in case it was housekeeping, and then threw open the door.

* * *

"Hi, Mr. Smith?"

He nodded and then for a moment just stared at her. Her online profile really did her little justice. He could tell she was sexy, but the vision before him…made his mouth dry and salivate at the same time. Realizing he was staring and not speaking like a weirdo, he stepped aside permitting her entry. She smiled, revealing straight white teeth and strode past him leaving behind a teasingly sweet smell of vanilla. After taking a cursory look around she turned to face him passing those bright green eyes over him.

He didn't know what she might be wearing underneath the coat, but her legs were housed in a pair of fishnet stockings just as he requested. Black snakeskin pumps added a good five inches to her otherwise diminutive height. Her legs were amazing and already he pictured them either thrown over his shoulders or wrapped around his waist as he pumped into her—furiously.

At the last second he realized he was still wearing his wedding ring and hastily stuffed his left hand in his pocket.

She grinned knowingly. "No reason to hide. I'm not here to judge."

"Can I take your coat?" he decided it was best to overlook that small yet huge detail.

"Not just yet," she said which stopped him in mid-stride. She hitched an eyebrow in the air. "We haven't discussed the terms of the contract."

He frowned thinking everything had been covered in the emails they exchanged. He wanted two hours of her time for the staggering price of seventeen hundred dollars. So he reminded her of that fact hoping he didn't sound too cross in the process.

She had the audacity to let out a little laugh as she fingered one of the buttons on her coat, drawing his attention, and making his heart beat just a little faster.

"Emails are never finite. They are simply a formality," she explained. "We agreed to the location, and the time, but you never explicitly stated what you wanted. What, Mr. Smith, are you in the mood for?"

"I thought we could just wing it," he replied and smiled charmingly hoping to diffuse any underhandedness she might have planned. He had fallen victim once before to a redhead, who swindled a thousand bucks out of him, and fifteen minutes into their "session" she left saying she had an emergency. He called the company to complain, and demanded he be reimbursed, but they had a well established no refund policy, and offered him another girl. He didn't _want _another girl. He wanted his thousand dollars back!

Well, he wasn't going to become anyone's chump. Ever again!

Yet he thought back to his predicament at hand. "I thought we could just talk."

"How much talking? For the allotted two hours?"

He hunched a shoulder. "Maybe. There's champagne."

She looked over her shoulder before redirecting her attention back to him. Her expression was unreadable.

"I don't drink while I'm working," she told him.

He nodded and thought this added to the fantasy he built up in his mind about her, and proved he had been right in his assessment. She was different from the others. A thought came to him.

"I'm sorry, but what's your name? You just had the letter B listed on your profile."

"That's my name. I'm sure your sign Mr. Smith on all the checks you write," she smiled teasingly.

Mr. Smith's cheeks warmed profusely. Aliases were a necessary evil when one dabbled with call girls.

"Seventeen hundred dollars is a lot of money for just two hours," he griped.

B approached and stood nearly toe to toe with him, the scent of her perfume much stronger with her closer. With her in kissing range. And she had lips he wanted to taste. Lips he wanted wrapped around his meat stick.

"I assure you, Mr. Smith…I'm worth _every _penny."

He gulped. Then watched helplessly as she moved away. His body suddenly felt bereft and he had yet to touch her creamy, unblemished, butterscotch skin.

"So you want to talk to me for two hours," B resumed their earlier conversation. "I guess I can swing with that. Nude or fully clothed?"

His eyes momentarily bulged out of their sockets and Mr. Smith wanted to slap himself upside the head for the way he was reacting to her. She was just a woman, one of hundreds he had been with, well maybe not _hundreds, _but he had been with his fair share of women. None of them made him feel like he was going to spray his shorts just by asking him a simple question.

"Nude," he blurted. "Get undressed," he ordered in the voice he used in the boardroom at his company.

B turned around, eyes slightly blazing. "We have yet to shake on any deal, Mr. Smith. We're still negotiating."

"And while we're negotiating," he used air quotation marks, "is it eating away at my time? You've been here for approximately," he flicked his wrist and noted the time, "ten minutes. That only leaves me an hour and fifty minutes with you."

"You can always request more time, but that of course would cost you more."

"How much for another hour?"

"An additional three hundred."

His eyes bulged again.

And just as he was about to protest, B began to button her coat to reveal a black mini dress that was sheer in _all _the right places. She wasn't wearing a stitch of underwear from what his experienced eyes could tell. He could make out the shape, size, and color of her areolas, and as his eyes diverted farther south he could see her kitten was completely bare.

Mr. Smith had a particular weakness for shaved pussies. Blood rushed and he was painfully hard and engorged behind the seam of his pants.

"Mr. Smith would you like an additional hour of my time?"

Mutely he nodded and blindly reached for his wallet extracting it from his back pocket. He retrieved three crisp one hundred dollar bills and lifted them up.

"I just have one other small request."

"And that is?"

Mr. Smith swallowed and noticed that her eyes were locked on him and not the money. That made him even harder for some unexplainable reason.

"You call me, Sir, all night."

B allowed the coat to cascade off her shoulders and pool at the bottom of her feet. She sauntered over to him embellishing the sway of her enticingly round hips, and didn't stop until her chest was crushed against his solid frame. Her fingers wormed over his fingers that clutched the money, and she ran the tip of her nose along his clean-shaven jaw.

"I think that can be arranged…Sir."

Chapter end.

**A/N: Who exactly is this Mr. Smith? Yes, I'm being ambiguous on purpose, but I know where I'm going with this, and I hope you stick around for more to see exactly how this all plays out. If you're wondering if this is PWP, not necessarily. So let me know what you think. Until next time, love you guys.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you guys for the reviews, and adding to your alerts, and favorites! I know this story is very strange and different from my other work, but its an idea I've been toying with for the last couple of months, and didn't know the best way to approach it. This deals with subject matter I don't condone on a personal level, so that means politically correctness has been thrown out the window. Tee-hee. Read on and enjoy!**

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Sometime in the future…**

It's been three weeks to the day since my interlude with Mr. Smith—well I should say—Sir. And the annoying thing is, I can't get him off my mind which by this point he should have been purged from my system in the fashion of a really good bowl movement. There had been very little which separated him from the pack of alpha males who thought they were God's gift to women and oftentimes left much to be desired. He was different in the aspect that while we were together he didn't abuse my body like he had an addiction that could never be sated; no, we had sex like he had been deprived.

Being deprived of sex was often a symptom of that disease called marriage. I know that sounds pretty harsh and that I might be anti-marriage, I assure you I'm not, only trying to keep things real.

But Sir handled me not like a high class hooker, but like the woman of his dreams.

For the first forty-five minutes I sat on the couch dressed in only the skin that covered my bones, and listened to him bitch and moan about problems he was facing at work. It was all boring, in my astute opinion, but I nodded politely, asked for clarification, and other inquires, and then sighed heavily.

That caught his attention for he paused in mid-sentence and finally stopped looking at me as if I were a therapist.

"I'm sorry…this isn't all that interesting to you, is it?"

I shook my head and reached for the glass of champagne. At that moment the rush it gave to my head had been the only exciting thing to happen all night. "Its fine, Sir. You have things you need to get off your chest and I rather you do it now than…"

"Take it out on you," he finished.

I nodded, took a sip of the golden, bubbly fluid before setting the crystal glass back on the table. I kept my eyes on him the whole time watching him as he watched me. Desire was plainly etched within his eyes; eyes that saw too much, I think.

Sir had risen to his feet and pulled his button down shirt out of his pants. I kept my eyes locked on him while he slipped the buttons out of their holes and peeled the shirt off his shoulders. He had a nice torso, well sculpted abs that contracted with each movement and breath. Arms that bespoke of spending upwards of three days out of the week at the gym. There was some hair on his chest but not a lot. Not a single flash of excitement coursed through me as I continued to watch him strip. Sir removed his pants, then his black boxer briefs that did little to contain his erection.

It was nice, I'll admit with a slightly curved tip. It jutted out perhaps seven and a half to eight inches from his body.

"Stand up," Sir ordered.

I followed suit and waited for my next set of instructions. Sir rounded the coffee table that had been the only barrier between us. He brushed my hair off my shoulders and just stared me in the eye.

"I want to kiss you. Is that sort of thing allowed?" he asked almost meekly.

I wasn't opposed to kissing but it wasn't on my list of priorities. "You've never kissed the other girls you've hired, Sir?"

"Well that's private…"

I smiled, "Things stopped being private between us when I walked into this room and took off my clothes, Sir."

He gulped and I watched in fascination as his cheeks colored over. There was something innocent about this man—which I know goes against what he's hired me to do—that I haven't encountered in anyone else.

"Kissing is important in this line of work, Sir. It's just as important as _where_ you want to kiss me."

His mouth plopped open then and his breathing deepened.

"Have you been thinking about kissing my…breasts?" I asked mischievously deciding to go easy on him and not say what I had intended to say.

His eyes fell and landed on my boobs like the Puritans landing on Plymouth Rock. "Y-yes."

"Have you thought about kissing my twat?"

Vigorously he nodded his head.

"Then what are you waiting for, Sir? You already have your invitation."

"Are you wet?" he asked suddenly, eyes back on me.

No, I wasn't, but I thought of the three hundred dollars that lined my purse and the seventeen hundred that had just been deposited in my account. I felt a tingle. A shiver that ran down my spine before detouring and tickling my clitoris.

Sir was handsome, fatally so, the kind of man any woman would delve into endless fantasies about it. When he touched my cheek, something shifted inside of me that was unexplainable and caught me off guard. I immediately wanted to back away from him, establish a neutral zone between our naked bodies, but that would have been in violation of our contract. I was his for the next three hours. His to do with whatever he wanted. But I didn't want him touching me like I was important to him, like I mattered, like he cared.

"Come here," he pulled he forward and locked his mouth on to mine. I made a small snort of protest but then found myself relaxing against his granite-like torso. He was an expert kisser, one of the best I ever had the pleasure of swapping spit with.

This was not good on so many levels.

His hands were everywhere and grew bolder and bolder by the second. Fingertips circled my nipples, hands brushed against my stomach before moving around to palm and squeeze my ass. He separated my cheeks and ghosted a finger over that puckered bud. I tensed for a second.

I ended our kiss. "That's still virgin territory," I felt the need to tell him.

"I bet it would feel great," he whispered in my ear.

"I bet it would cost you a hundred thousand dollars to go back there."

After hearing that, Sir dropped it and then picked me up bridal style. We entered the bedroom, and he lowered me to the bed all the while still raiding my mouth with his tongue. The minute my back hit the cool duvet, he headed south, mauling my titties until my nipples were harder than they had ever been in all my…my age isn't important. Just know I'm old enough to do _this. _

Lower still he traveled until he was eye level with my C U Next Tuesday.

"How many men have you been with?"

He really wanted to discuss this now?

"Worried about catching something?" I asked. "I get checked out every…"

"No…I just want to know if you're tight."

"Find out for yourself."

Two fingers invaded my tunnel and pumped a couple of times massaging my inner muscles before retracting. And I might have moved my hips a little because well, he knew what he was doing. This man didn't need any coaching which only served to make me even more nervous about doing this.

"You're almost as tight as a virgin," he looked at me suspiciously.

"Is that a problem?" It wasn't like he was so endowed that I feared for the survival of my vagina.

Sir crawled back up my body and hovered over me. "I can pretend you are mine and mine alone. That you've never been with anybody else."

Oh, great the virgin fantasy. How original.

I said nothing but merely made room for him between my thighs and began to look as reticent as I did when I initially lost my virginity. For the record no one loses their virginity; I willingly and happily gave mine away.

His eyes hardened. "Ask me to fuck you."

I grinned up at him and stole a kiss before settling back on the bed. "Please, fuck me, Sir. Bust my cherry."

I didn't say anything after that because the breath had been robbed from my lungs as Sir thrust forward, after putting on a condom, and impaled me on his shaft. My toes curled on impact; my fingernails dug trenches in his shoulders.

I lost count of the number of positions we tried. Sir was into spanking, hair, and nipple pulling. His Boy Scout demeanor had been a front because a freak resided in that man.

"Your pussy is so _goooodddddd_," he moaned and then bit my neck almost savagely. He was going to pay for that.

"That's because it's your pussy," at least for tonight.

Sir pumped his hips until I was moving across the bed, and then he jerked, back arched as he howled towards the ceiling. I followed suit a little while after that.

Six mind-numbing, hair raising orgasms later Sir did more than bust my figurative cherry. The man took my body to places it's never been before, made me say things that weren't all that explicit or raunchy in nature. At the end there had been no mistaking the fact I indulged in the specialty it had taken several months to perfect. It had been a shock to Sir who grew curious if I could do it again. I showed him just how talented I was, and he simply marveled.

"Are there any other girls who can do what you just did?" he asked. "Squirt?"

"Plenty. Some girls are much more limber than I am, too, and can twist their bodies in all sorts of interesting positions." Some could also do triple penetration. I'll just let that slightly disturbing thought marinate in your brains for a while.

"Wow," Mr. Smith said and then curled up behind me. Spooning me. Cuddling. I never stayed around long enough for anyone to cuddle. I always allowed myself fifteen minutes towards the end of the session to clean myself up, but Sir had exhausted all of his time, and I was simply exhausted. I didn't want to leave the bed unsure if my legs would cooperate or not.

"I know you have to go, but I have one final request," Mr. Smith said.

I craned my neck to look back at him. "What?"

"Tell me you love me."

The hell?

"I haven't heard that in a long time," Mr. Smith went on to explain.

For a half a second I found myself wondering what kind of cold bitch was he married to, to not tell him that she loved him, but then I thought of the fact he was an adulterer, and deserved to have his wife find out what a lying, cheating bastard she married, and take his ass to the cleaners. But that expression on a face fashioned by the spirit of Michelangelo made me feel sorry for this loser. I thought of my own rules about not growing attached to clients, or falling in love, and though technically I didn't love him, I would in a way be breaking my golden rule by uttering those life-altering words.

So I did what I did best. Focused on the fact he just paid for my new wardrobe this month.

"I…I love you, Sir," the words sounded odd and like an echo in my head.

Unexpectedly, Sir sighed and then rolled out of bed, a look of disappointment and disgust marring his striking features.

Instantly I copped an attitude because he was the one asking a stranger to say 'I love You', and if he were hoping it would sound sincere and authentic he shouldn't have made the stupid request in the first place!

Did he want me to call him by name? I didn't even know it. His name could have been Paul, Ian, Nate, or Joseph, hell he could have been a Zach or a Michael for all I knew. And I really didn't care.

His time was over. My services were done. I got out of bed and went on the hunt for my clothes which were still in the living room of the suite.

Sir didn't say anything. Kept his back to me as he poured what champagne was left into a glass and picked up a chocolate covered strawberry. I didn't find it necessary to thank him, merely dressed, then retrieved my coat and purse.

"Can I…can I see you again?" Mr. Smith asked timidly.

I buttoned my coat before replying, "I don't do repeat customers."

He glared at me then. "So you really do just fuck em and leave em, hun?"

I smiled and then winked. "It's part of my lure. Good luck with your business, _Sir_."

"Wait."

I halted with my hand on the doorknob that led to freedom. I felt Mr. Smith at my back pressing his naked warmth into me, infecting my olfactory senses with his masculine and sex drenched scent.

"Thank you for tonight."

"You're welcome, Sir."

"Be careful. The roads are slick this time of night."

I nodded my head at his suggestion and threw open the door.

::::

The door to my bedroom flew open and in walked _him. _He eyed me as I wiped off the bookshelf that housed some of my favorite novels, pictures, and little knickknacks that have been collected from all over the globe.

"Why are you cleaning? We have a maid service I pay good money for to do that, you know."

The_ Pest, _as I affectionately called him never passed up the opportunity to remind me how much money he spent to make sure I lived in the lap of luxury. As if I needed his goodwill. This arrangement between us was only as permanent as I felt he served some purpose. I ignored him and continued on with my wiping, dusting, and rearranging.

Living in suburbia had its perks but many pitfalls as well. Forced to socialize with women who only went to college to land a husband that would one day take Wall Street by storm, and didn't have two brain cells to rub together; forced to pretend that the walls of my three-story home were filled with warmth and not sterile coldness. I lived a lie everyday.

"Ignoring me won't make me go away."

"Unfortunately," I mumbled under my breath. I finally turned to acknowledge him. "Did you need something?"

He shook his head and crossed the room and entered our massive walk-in closet. "I'm going out for a few beers with the guys. I'll be home late. If I drink too much I'll just crash at…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said cutting him off knowing how much he hated the sound of his voice being interrupted.

The_ Pest_ came out of the closet with his fashionable and insanely expensive leather jacket. He slipped it on and wrapped his Burberry scarf twice around his neck. Though I couldn't stand the sight of him on a good day even I wasn't immune to how attractive he was, how riveting he could be when doing the most basic and simple thing. He didn't share the same attitude or opinion when it came to me. He thought I was rigid and obtusely proper. Ha. If _only_ he knew.

"Be a good girl and make that lamb that's been going to waste in the freezer. We can have it for dinner tomorrow night."

"I'll have Madge do it. She's the better cook."

He sighed heavily in resignation. "It would nice if…"

I held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "We've both been on our best behavior today. Let's not ruin it with a pointless argument over food. Go have fun with the guys."

He grunted and moved towards the door but then stopped to look at me over his shoulder. "What will you be getting into while I'm gone?"

I shrugged. "I'll probably just check my email and then watch a movie. I have no plans to hang with the girls tonight."

"I really wish you'd spend more time with them. We really should be trying to fit in here."

And I really wished you leave and stop getting on my nerves, I projected that thought through my narrowed eyes.

"They might be the wives and girlfriends of your 'friends' doesn't mean they have to be mine as well. Have a good time, sweetheart."

The _Pest_ muttered something incoherent before leaving me to my solitude.

I waited an hour before venturing downstairs to tell Madge to take the rest of the night off. If the _Pest_ wanted lamb he could make it himself. He knew how to cook.

Alone, I went into my office and logged on the Venus Dolls website. I signed into my account and saw I had fifteen messages in my inbox.

There were a few from so-called lonely college boys looking to burn through their trust funds on whores and booze, one from a Texan businessman who was specifically looking for a Nubian goddess who offered "maid-like" services. Um, no. Not going to be reliving days on the plantation through me. I had received an offer from a professor. That one piqued my particular interest but it was the last email that held my attention.

In the subject line there was only one word written: Sir.

I smiled and opened up the email against my better judgment. Mr. Smith apologized for making things awkward between us with his final request. He also felt the need to tell me that he would be away on business, but was hoping I might agree to lunch or dinner, hopefully dinner, upon his return, and we could just talk. I shook my head because he was willfully ignoring the fact I said I didn't do repeat customers, and it was also printed in all caps, I might add, on my profile.

"Persistent bugger, aren't you?"

My fingernails tapped the desk as I thought of what I would do. Delete his message or reply back.

I thought of the way he pulled my hair, the way he thrust deep inside, the fact my legs had remained airborne for most of the night, and his smell. I couldn't exactly get that out of my head.

He was dangerous whoever this man was.

I was tempted…oh so tempted, until I looked at that diamond handcuff on my ring finger reminding me of my obligation. Did I feel bad or a sense of remorse for what I was doing on the side? When you're a stay-at-home trophy let me know what you do for kicks in your spare time before you cast that stone.

Sir treated me like a person, like I mattered, wanted to please me which was probably why I should stay far away from him because I could very well see him making me want things I didn't currently have. My home life was monotonous and routine, boring yet punctuated with fun times and adventures. Didn't necessarily stop my wandering eye. I did love the _Pest_ contrary to popular belief, but love couldn't salvage everything.

After a few more minutes of weighing the pros and cons and the possible tragedy this could all very well lead to, my mind was made up.

"Fuck it," I wrote him back.

* * *

**Three weeks ago…**

His heart was a maddening beat behind his sternum. Every step he took that led to his sprawling estate felt heavy. His shoulders slumped with guilt, and his eyes burned with images of caramel skin. He worked his tongue across his entire mouth tasting her despite the fact he brushed his teeth three times and gargled half a bottle of Listerine.

Sticking his key in the lock, the beep of the alarm was the only thing to welcome him home. Quickly he crossed over the polished floor to the winding staircase taking his time, dragging his hand up the wrought iron railing, eyes to the ceiling trying to discern any sound of her movement. It was a little past seven o'clock in the morning and she was an early riser.

It wasn't the case this morning as he opened up one of the double doors leading to his bedroom. The blinds, set to a timer, had opened at six forty-five and in poured the rays of the sun blanketing her in light.

His angel.

She shifted a bit as if knowing she was under his heavy stare, but she didn't wake up much to his relief. He dropped his leather bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and approached the bed.

He was tempted to kiss her on the cheek but reframed from doing so. With her still unconscious to the world this gave him some time to screw his head on straight.

Quietly he entered the bathroom and carefully eased the door shut. Again he sighed in relief but he hadn't even encountered the hard part yet—facing the missus who would bombard him with questions about the meeting, his stay in the hotel, and why he didn't return the three calls she left for him the night before.

"My phone was on vibrate" excuse could only work but so many times before she would begin to look at him suspiciously. He never traveled without his charger so he couldn't blame his lack of contact on a dead battery. Maybe he could get away with saying he was tired, had every intention of calling, lost track of time, figured she'd be sleeping, and he didn't want to disturb her. That would have to work.

He stripped out of his clothes, turned on the shower, and took a piss.

With his hand on his jock a memory of last night instantly slammed into him and it wasn't his hand doing the honors of making sure he aimed for the bowl, it was a tiny caramel hand clutching him at the base while a pink tongue…

He flushed the toilet and his traitorous thoughts as his nuts strum to life and he felt himself stiffening. Growling lowly in his throat, he stepped into the shower and didn't leave until his skin was taut and tight. Toweling himself dry, he eyed his reflection and wondered if he wore the expression of a man who just had the night of his life, a night that didn't involve his significant other in any way, shape, or form?

The correct way to feel about the entire situation was disgust. However, the only thing that made him feel disgusted was the fact he wanted B again, but she had turned down his request for another "meeting". Didn't women who did what she did for a living live for repeat customers? She knew he was good for the money so what exactly was her deal? Maybe she really did have an issue with the fact he was married. Maybe she was one of the few who had some scruples despite the fact she was paid—and very handsomely at that—to sleep with or "entertain" men she wasn't in a monogamous relationship with.

Running thick fingers through his hair, he shook his head and knew it was best to just forget about her and the incredible night they had.

"Babe…are you home?"

The sound of his angel's voice snapped him out of his reverie and pulled him into their bedroom. She was awake, rubbing her eye with one hand while the other was stretched above her head while she yawned.

"Hey," he greeted her and watched as her eyes fluttered against the sunlight while they took in his damp appearance. Her smile was slow and instantly warmed him but also scared him witless.

"When did you get back? Last night?"

He shook his head. He could have lied and said yes and that he fell asleep in the office while looking over some reports, but he was tired of lying to her.

"This morning."

"How was your trip?" she scooted out of bed, and strolled over to him.

That warm feeling inside warred with trepidation as he noticed she had turned one of his shirts into a nightgown. He leaned down as she stood on her toes to peck his lips. That was it. Just a peck. No tongue, no teeth clashing, no oxygen deprivation, no bodily contact of any kind, just a no thrills peck.

"It was the same as all the other business trips I go on, honey," he said and retrieved his bag, looked over his shoulder and then quickly emptied out the contents. He grabbed the box of condoms and stuffed them at the very bottom of his sock drawer in their walk-in closet.

When his angel stepped out of the bathroom she had her toothbrush lodged in her mouth. "Hmm…why didn't you return any of my messages? I was worried."

"I'm sorry, babe," and then he went into a litany of excuses that were nothing but lies. His angel nodded in acceptance of his words before heading back into the bathroom to finish up her morning routine.

Donning a charcoal gray shirt and pajama bottoms, he left his feet bare as he entered the bathroom and watched his angel floss her teeth. She really was beautiful and he was lucky he married her, but there had been something lacking in their relationship that went all the way back to when they initially started dating. She was a southern bred debutante; had the right familial connections, received a stellar education from some of the most prestigious schools and university. She was everything a financier like him could want in a spouse, but she didn't fulfill_ all_ of his needs.

Their sex life was a matter of perspective. His angel thought she was an exceptional lover and he never let her think otherwise, but there was this hunger, this appetite within him that she could never quench.

He lowered his eyes guiltily as once again he was transported back to Riverside Manor, back to B's tight and dripping wet snatch, back to the sound of her moans echoing in his ears.

"Did you hear me?"

He snapped his head up. "I'm sorry, what?"

"What do you want for breakfast?"

Alcohol.

"I'll cook," he offered because he needed to get away from her. Just as he turned to make his escape, he felt her hand on his arm tugging him backwards.

"Are you okay? You look flushed. You didn't eat something bad did you?"

"No, sweetie, I'm just tired."

"Oh," she nibbled a corner of her lips and stared at her feet demurely before looking up at him again underneath those dark lashes. "I was hoping…we could…you know…fool around. It's been a while and I've missed you."

Inwardly he groaned. As much as he may have wanted to slam her on the bed and have his wicked way with her his toy solider was down for the count, and appallingly only stirred to life if he thought about B. And the angel standing before him was nothing like B.

"Let me get some food in me and then we can fool around," he muttered dryly. Not once had the words, sex or fuck traipsed out of his wife's mouth, and her euphemisms for each word made him laugh sadly. If it weren't for the fact she just initiated the idea of them having sex, he'd think she was as passionless as a corpse. He smiled though it felt forced and his stomach rumbled with guilt.

Her eyes lit up like fireworks and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth, still without any hint of tongue.

Later that afternoon, he managed to get out of performing his husbandly duties by saying he had to have an emergency conference call. His angel had pouted but once again accepted his lies for truth without complaint. She could be so damn docile it was a wonder he was still awake. Instead of waiting around, she dressed, and then went out to go pile on more credit card debt with one of her snobby friends.

With her gone, he logged into his Mac, and then signed on to his account at Venus Dolls. It took him no time at all to pull up B's profile since he bookmarked it. His hands flew over the keyboard before he could talk himself out of what he was doing.

He read over his message twice checking for typos and grammatical errors, and then hit the send button. She wasn't online now from what he could tell, but hopefully she'd check her messages later on today or tomorrow. Regardless of her no repeat customers philosophy he was determined to see her again. He didn't know that much about her, but what he did know intrigued him.

She did whatever he asked of her. Even told him she loved him. He was really fucked up to ask a complete stranger to say that to him.

What would possess him ask such a deeply personal and intimate thing left him scratching his head and wanting to pummel himself for the unfaithful bastard that he was. Women like B were not turned into housewives. Not to say they weren't worthy, but who would respect them once their profession was made public knowledge?

The smart thing to do was to stay away from her. He had a life here in Connecticut. A _good _life. And one he shouldn't throw away for anything least of all for some pussy that didn't belong to his wife.

Green eyes taunted him while a Mona Lisa smile questioned him. "You sure you can walk away and _stay_ away?"

"I honestly don't know," he replied to the phantom voice in his head.

There was no backing out now. No matter how long it took he would see Miss B again. Hopefully.

Chapter end.

**A/N: Looks like Mr. Smith isn't the only one leading a double life. There is just one chapter left and things will come to a head. And yes, I still haven't coughed up any details about Mr. Smith's identity or that of his wife, or B's husband. I kind of want to leave that open for you guys' interpretation and imagination. I know who I have in mind, who I'm using as inspiration and I'm kind of on the fence whether I want to reveal that or not. I might or I might not. But thank you for reading and let me know what you think. Until tomorrow, love you guys! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: And here is the conclusion to Sir. I hope you guys enjoy and once again thank you so much for reading, reviewing, and adding to your lists! I have to say this has been my easiest story to write and post, and I'm sad its ending, but I do have a ton of other stuff to update. So once again, enjoy! Oh yeah, this gets um…explicit. Fair warning. **

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

His concentration was shot to shit. This was his element, his playground, his backyard, but he felt like a fish out of water, a dunce in a room full of super geniuses, and it all boiled down to one cold, hard fact.

She promised.

It took more than three weeks for B to reply to his email, and after getting over the initial shock that she hadn't totally blown him off, he remembered the way his hand shook and hovered over the mouse before he directed the pointer arrow to click and open her email response. His heart flipped and flopped with anticipation and dread that she would only repeat her sentiment that she didn't do repeat customers, and would kindly tell him to fuck off in the politest way possible.

Foolishly he memorized her response that at any moment the world began to feel like it was watching, judging his actions and pointing fingers, he could recall her response and it would quell that flare of self-hatred that made him second guess his intelligence.

_I seem to be breaking all sorts of rules for you, but I can't deny that you intrigue me. Name the time and place, the price remains the same; and based on the conclusion of the meeting that will determine if I'll take you on as my one and only regular. There's safety in familiarity, at least that's what an old, wise woman said to me once. Have a good week, and if you need to, jerk off thinking about me, as I will be flipping my switch while thinking of you. XOXO_

Shamelessly he did as she suggested envisioning her in his mind spread out before him on a bed, legs spread as far as they could go while her hand worked her expertly until she exploded and flooded the sheets with her cum. It was the most beautiful fantasy he had ever had and one that caused him to make a mess on the expensive Persian rug.

Call him weak and thirsty but he wasted no time sending her a follow-up response and probably gave her more information than he needed to, but he wanted B to know that he wanted to see her badly even if his schedule wouldn't permit him to get away for a while. He told her about tonight, and this networking function slash conference he would be attending. The only reason he shared this information with her is because it would be the only viable excuse he could give to his angel for why he wouldn't be coming home immediately after the event. Not to mention the conference was being held in Rhode Island so that meant he could stay overnight.

He had plans to leave as soon as enough people could vouch he was there and they spoke with him even if the exchange were brief, just in the off chance his angel decided she wanted to check up on his whereabouts through colleagues and friends.

Here in this place he wasn't known as Mr. Smith, the philander, the adulterer, though he didn't need to take a poll or survey to see how many men in this very room at some point cheated on their wives, or currently had a side piece, some of those women-on-the-side were probably in attendance. He felt comfortable here because he could melt in the shadows, in the background, and not worry about his salacious behavior being brought to light. His real name, his real identity was safe within these walls. There was nothing that could tarnish the reputation he earned himself through hard work and due diligence.

As he turned his attention once more to the emails exchanged between himself and B, she had written back the next day citing she was booked, but as soon as she had an opening it was his. He couldn't explain the fury but on top of that the jealousy that rushed through his veins that one, she would have the audacity to tell him she was a hot commodity—as if he didn't already know—and two, that she would pencil him, HIM in at her earliest convenience. But being as desperate as he was he would take whatever time she could allot him, and run with it, and find some way to convince her that she didn't need anyone else. She had him and as long as he was around she had access to his wealth.

Mr. Smith shook his head. He was being dumb, but not only dumb, but stupid, and not only stupid, but a fucking retard.

You have a wife man, a wife! And that title and position demands some kind of respect from you, he mentally admonished himself.

His angel was so oblivious to everything that he felt sorry for her. Felt sorry that she married a man who stopped desiring her and _only_ her. But there was no way he could give her up. He loved her. Sometimes irrationally and intensely, and other times passively. This was just one of those passive phases he was going through, and that's why he was becoming slightly addicted to B. She was different, enticing, and did whatever he wanted her to do without complaint or raising a bunch of questions. Some days he couldn't get his angel to wash his shirts without asking why they were dirty in the first place. He wasn't saying that to say she was stupid. No, far from it. However, his angel sometimes had too much intelligence and very little common sense.

And that was one of the reasons why he loved her the way he did. She challenged him even if the challenge got on his last fucking nerve.

"…so my wife was telling me there's this whole secret society of these socialite women who are part of some S&M club all inspired by that book um…what is it…50 Blades of Grass?"

Soft chuckles sounded all around snapping Mr. Smith back to the conversation he should have been a part of.

"No, you dick. It's called _50 Shades of Gray_. My wife bought the entire trilogy and wanted me to tie her up and shit. I mean…we tried it out one night and I gotta say I busted the biggest nut of my life, man! I read one of the books, but the writing was horrible, the characters poorly developed and one dimensional, but it inspired _some _ideas."

Mr. Smith snorted and took another sip of his bourbon.

"This just proves, gentleman, my theory that women want to be dominated, treated like slaves and whores."

Mr. Smith narrowed his eyes a bit towards that comment. He wouldn't go out on a limb and say it was_ every_ woman's wish to be treated like a sex slave. If he even suggested to tie his angel to the bed using her expensive silk scarves she'd have a conniption fit. Not because he wanted to tie her up but because he wanted to use her two hundred dollar scarves.

"Yeah, I dare you to go home and say that your wife, Brockton."

Those in this circle of millionaires knew that Brockton married the feminist of feminists. If the color of his cheeks turning bright red wasn't indication enough his wife would gladly collect his dick and balls before ever demeaning herself to be tied up and left exposed for his sexual pleasure alone, wasn't statement enough, then no one knew what was.

"Excuse me, gentleman, I need a refill," Mr. Smith bowed out of the conversation knowing it would only be a matter of time before the spotlight landed on him and the dogs present would salivate for intimate details about his sex life with his wife. They could kiss his ass. He wasn't sharing.

Once he made it to the bar area, and asked the bartender for a refill, he observed and scanned the room looking for familiar faces. Seeing very few people he had met over the course of his career, Mr. Smith checked the time on his watch. He'd stay for another thirty minutes before hopping in his car and rushing back to Riverside Manor where he had an open reservation, and he'd email B to see if tonight might be a good night to hook up.

"Thanks," Mr. Smith said to the bartender as soon as his bourbon was placed in front of him. He took a sip, the strong burn of the alcohol made him pull his lips back from his teeth. He was about to take another sip when he caught sight of someone in his peripheral vision.

His saliva traveled down the wrong pipe and he began coughing. Rapping his chest, Mr. Smith watched with bulged eyes as B entered the room in a scandalously beautiful black dress that left her shoulders exposed, revealed the creamy bouncy mounds of her tits, with a train that molded to her ass perfectly and swept the floor as if she were royalty.

Several men paused what they were doing just to gawk, stare, and drool on her as she made her way through the room, head held high with a face that was done to perfection, and her hair was done in some intricate hairstyle that piled beautifully on the crown of her head.

B was instantly stopped by someone that Mr. Smith could only assume wanted to know if he could get her a drink or take her for a spin around the room. There were several couples that were dancing to the jazz music that flowed and ebbed in the convention center.

The second her path was blocked the second time, that prompted Mr. Smith to intervene. Slamming the glass on the bar top, and gritting his teeth, Mr. Smith marched across the room, and then slid into position right next to B.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek and wrapped his arm low around her waist, his hand almost palming her ass.

"I'm glad you could make it, baby, I was getting worried," Mr. Smith said before glaring at the man who gulped and backed up a couple of paces.

B sniggered a bit behind her closed fist and stared up at Mr. Smith. "You know I wouldn't miss this event for the world," she over exaggerated her enthusiasm, playing along. "Honey, have you met Mr. Gerald?"

"No, I haven't had the pleasure," Mr. Smith stuck out a hand. "Nice to meet, Mr. Gerald was it?"

The man in the tailored Hugo Boss suit shook hands with Mr. Smith and grimaced slightly at the pressure the younger man was using.

"Your wife is very beautiful," Mr. Gerald complimented the striking woman standing next to the equally strikingly man.

"I know that," Mr. Smith said clipped and succinctly. "That's why I married her." He dropped his eyes on B. "You're probably thirsty, sweetheart. Let's get you a drink."

"Mr. Gerald," B said, "It was nice to meet you. If I had a business card I'd give you one so we could talk more later about that…"

Mr. Smith yanked B behind him. No she wasn't about to solicit another man in his presence. He couldn't explain the primitive need that rose up in him that wanted to clobber any man on the head who tried to look in her direction. It was stupid the way he was behaving as if he had any claim on her, as if she would run away if he didn't hold on to her as tightly as possible. She wasn't his, but at the same time she was. Or at the very least he was paying her to be.

"That was rude, Mr. Smith," B chastised him.

"What are you doing here?" he unintentionally snapped.

"Not happy to see me? Pity. I got all dressed up for nothing."

Mr. Smith stopped walking and faced B. The way her bottom lip looked covered in gloss looking juicier than a melon made him groan. Now that he could observe her more closely, he could see that the black dress she wore was beaded around the bodice, and sheer there as well. He wanted her to turn around so he could admire her ass, but that would have been pushing it. There was a slit in the front that nearly went all the way to her crotch. He gulped and wondered if she were wearing panties. He was praying she wasn't and that her shaved pussy was free, open, and easily accessible.

Mr. Smith was sure the tips of his ears were bright red. He averted his eyes for a moment to calm his excitement down.

When he had his bearings under control he looked at her once more. "You came all the way here to surprise me? How did you know my wife wouldn't be here?"

She smiled and that smile was dangerous. She had hoped that his wife would be here to make things even more awkward. He didn't know if he should be flattered or infuriated she would risk that chance to expose his double life. Yet the sicko that resided in him found that extremely hot.

B's fingers began to play with the lapel of his shirt. "Is she here? Your wife?"

Mr. Smith shook his head slowly. "She typically hates attending these things. They hold no kind of interest for her and she would only complain all night."

"What makes you think I won't complain…Sir?" B questioned and added an erection inducing smile.

Mr. Smith's jaw ticked and the palms of his hands itched. He had never had to exercise so much will power in his life not to grab someone as much as he wanted to grab B. She was playing with him, toying with him, hoping he'd lose control. And he very much wanted to indulge in that.

However, he still had to be very careful because a few co-workers from his company were here, and they knew his wife.

"I hope you do so I can pull you out of the room and…discipline you," he whispered.

B purred and then much to Mr. Smith's delight placed her back to his front and slightly ground her ass into his crotch.

His hands found their way to her waist to steady her or push her away, Mr. Smith wasn't sure what he wanted to do.

"How much is this night going to set me back?" he spoke into her ear.

B looked up at him. "We can talk business later. Now about that drink…"

* * *

My plans for deviant behavior were coming along quite nicely if I must say so myself. This sort of thing, crashing an event one of my clients was attending even if he extended a loose invitation to join him afterwards was something I didn't do. It raised too many problems and exacerbated complications. I wasn't one of those women who got off on exposing cheating husbands to their gullible wives, but even I got bored with the humdrum of meeting up in upscale hotels, five star restaurants, and spas to get down to business.

Being here tonight, I caught a glimpse the world I stayed as far away from that the _Pest_ was enshrined in. I didn't know what Mr. Smith did for a living, but I would guess and say he was another power broker like my husband. Where the _Pest_ was cocky because he was damn good at what he did, Mr. Smith seemed humble. It was sweet.

He was a man who could have the world at his feet. He could buy million dollar homes, cars, and yes women without breaking a sweat, but he wasn't doing so out of a sense of entitlement, and that was refreshing.

The way he dragged me behind him after I tried to build my clientele was funny if not a little off putting. Paying me two thousand dollars to screw my brains out didn't make him my owner, nor indebted to him. And things became even more hilarious when he didn't dispute Mr. Gerald's assumption that I was his wife.

If word spread like wildfire that I was Mr. Smith's wife, I could forget about doing my own brand of networking. Poo. It would have been nice to gain a new acquaintance or two.

I didn't know what this convention was about. More or less it had something to do with self-made playboys patting each other on the back for screwing the little man and sticking it to the IRS. As such, I said very little, remained at Mr. Smith's side who never removed his hand from my hip, sipped champagne, and endured the "looks" from men who could care less I was spoken for.

I mean I wasn't but Mr. Smith was doing a bang up job of subliminally cock blocking.

"We should take our seats. The keynote speaker is about to come up on stage," Mr. Smith suggested.

"How long as we staying? My kitten is practically _dripping_," I whispered in his ear.

I watched Mr. Smith's Adam's apple bob up and down. He didn't reply, only pushed me toward a table where people I didn't know where already assembled. Mr. Smith said hello as he pulled out my chair, I merely smiled and sat down. Mr. Smith sat to the left of me and we focused our eyes to the head table at the end of the room.

The lights dimmed, the master of ceremony came out, and the procession of boring speeches began.

My hand disappeared underneath the ivory tablecloth and landed on Mr. Smith's knee. I traced the shape of his patella with my index finger. He cleared his throat yet kept his eyes forward. That inspired me to double up my efforts, and I began to methodically rub my hand up and down his thigh, making sure my fingers brushed the inside of his leg. Higher my hand traveled until my busy little fingers ran into his scrotum.

Mr. Smith jerked at the contact, reached for his glass of water, and took a hearty sip. I decided to pull my hand away, but his hand grabbed mine and forcibly placed it on his burgeoning erection.

I had lied earlier about my kitten having a leaking problem, but she was slowly waking up.

Those eyes of his found mine in the semi-darkness of the conference room, and I began to stroke his genitals until he was as stiff as a board, as hard as concrete, and more than likely spilling pre-cum by the drop.

"I need to use the restroom," I whispered, got up and left the room. I didn't have to go to the bathroom, but hopefully Mr. Smith would take the bait.

A full minute and some seconds later he exited the conference room and spotted me down the hall. Wordlessly he followed me until he was right at my back, damn the man was fast, and the next thing I knew I was being pulled into a room, a storage room.

Angrily he kissed my mouth until the onslaught left me breathless and wanting to ride his dick until the world ended. His hand found its way between the slit of my dress before his fingers parted the slit of my nether lips that were slick and throbbing for him.

"You're not wearing panties," Mr. Smith said the obvious.

"I figured they'd be an impediment, Sir."

He growled as I called him by that special name he inducted himself with. Mr. Smith shoved me up against some boxes, and then jerked down the zipper of his pants.

"How much to fuck you senseless right here and right now until I fill you up with my cum?"

He was such a nasty bastard but all it did was make my heart beat faster and my own lubrication to glide down my slightly parted legs.

"Since I'm crashing your party I'll give you a discount…nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents."

Mr. Smith laughed, and then grabbed my tits. "I'll pay you five thousand if you let me fuck you all night."

My eyebrows shot up to my hairline. I could easily write this off simply as his horniness talking but I saw the seriousness in his eyes. Even in this darkened room where the only sliver of light came from the bottom of the closed door.

"I think that can be arranged." There was that new Hermes Birkin bag I saw the other day that would go well with the St. John suit I recently purchased. That five thousand would come in handy.

From this point on I would think of him as Sir.

Sir kissed me again, stabbing his tongue over and over in my mouth before he spun me around and bent me over a stack of boxes that would give me some kind of leverage. He pulled my dress up to expose my ass, and then he kicked my feet apart.

I listened as Sir ripped open a condom with his teeth, I like a man who comes prepared, applied it to his engorged shaft, and then he was rubbing the mushroom head against my clit.

"Ask for it," Sir demanded between clenched teeth.

"Please fuck me, Sir."

In one swift thrust he was buried inside me. We both cried out as ripples of pleasure trickled down like syrup and he began, for lack of a better phrase, to beat my pussy up. I arched my back and then reached behind me to spread my cheeks so he could go deeper. With his slightly curved dick he was hitting my spot.

Three weeks had been too long and I forgot how good he was. Sir's fingers burrowed into my skin and I knew there would be bruises once this was over. How I would explain them to the _Pest_, I'm sure I'd think of some convenient lie.

His balls slapped against my clit in rhythm with his pumping. Sir no longer held on to my ass and waist but reached around and grabbed my breasts which had somehow fallen out of the cups of my dress. He pinched my nipples until they were stiff and flirting with soreness and then he slapped my ass. I felt it jiggle and he massaged the stinging pain away before delivering another blow.

"You're so tight," Sir growled and pummeled into my tightness at a speed that was nearly inhuman.

I couldn't form any kind of coherent thoughts and just allowed my moans, sighs, shrieks, and squeals to add my part of the dialogue.

Sir pulled out and I nearly screamed in frustration. "Turn around."

I did and then he picked me up and placed me some kind of way on the boxes. For a second I didn't think they would hold under my weight, but with my back on the boxes, my ass suspended in the air, and Sir holding my legs, I felt secure he wouldn't let me fall.

Slowly this time he slid back into me and tossed my left leg on his shoulder while he hooked my right leg around his waist. We were back at in no time fucking like two horny kids who had been deprived and in a way we had been.

Sir bent over me and latched onto a nipple flicking his tongue wildly across the pebbled top. "I want you to squirt on me," he said and continued thrusting.

"But your suit…Sir…"

"I want to look like I got caught in a rainstorm."

Just for the record it wasn't raining outside. It was as dry as a bone, but if that's what he wanted, he would get it.

So I began to massage myself and directed him on how to position his hips to get the maximum benefit of what was about to take place. I felt it building inside like a deep urge to urinate, and then with a high pitched squeal I said,

"I'm coommmmiiiinnngggggg!"

Fluid shot out of my snatch like a water gun and landed somewhere….

"Ohhhhhh fuuuuucccckkkkkkkk!" Sir roared and then the idiot pulled out, snatched off the condom, and spurted his cum all over the place, hand locked tightly around his meat as he stroked it up and down like he was choking it for being disobedient or something.

We made quite a mess.

Breathing erratically I tried to get my bearings together but electroshock waves zapped me periodically and I was momentarily paralyzed.

"Woooowwwww….whoo….I…um…gotdamn," Sir spoke like a literary scholar and I could do nothing more than laugh.

I stared at him and he instantly turned bashful. His cheeks were bright red; his forehead peppered with sweat, his suit jacket and tie somehow ended up skewered. Mr. Smith reached inside his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. He handed it to me to clean myself up.

For the first time since climbing off my cloud, I looked down at myself. My legs were covered with fluid both his and mine and my dress was stained in unsightly places. Monica Lewinsky in this moment had nothing on me.

Mr. Smith helped me off the boxes and the both of us tried to make ourselves look as presentable as possible. I stuffed my girls back into my dress, and smooth my hands over my hair tucking any unruly strands back into place.

"I reserved the same room at the Riverside Manor. I can cancel it and get a room here."

I shook my head. "I can't stay."

Desperation filtered through his eyes. "Please…you agreed that I could have you for the entire night."

"I know, Mr. Smith, but I have someone…I can't stay. I'm sorry."

"You still expect to get paid five thousand dollars?"

His voice had taken on a hard edge and I understood why, didn't mean I had to like it though. "Consider this a freebie."

"I don't _want_ a freebie which is right up there with pity. What we just shared was incredible. You can walk away from that?"

It was incredible and the fact that it was is why I needed to nip this right in the bud. Even now I was fighting my growing affection for Mr. Smith that wanted to override my common sense. This man was a stranger. A stranger that put it down like no one's business, but I had my own life with its own set of problems I unfortunately had to return to. As much as I wanted to stay with him, I couldn't.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith but I need to get back on the road." I was three hours from home and looked like I just got fucked in a storage closet at a convention center.

"Please…just give me an hour. I'll pay whatever you want."

My eyes closed. "It's not about the money. I still need to go."

I opened the door, flooding the room with light that stung my eyes. I walked ahead of Mr. Smith and I could literally hear him thinking of ways to convince me to change my mind. But my mind was already made up and I had to leave no matter what. No matter the dollar amount or the temptation to sleep with him all over again.

A security guard popped up out of nowhere and eyed us suspiciously. "No one is allowed back here."

"Sorry, my husband and I were having a little spat and didn't want anyone to see."

The guard peeped my left hand to see if I was telling the truth. He knew women like me sometimes worked at events like this. Instead of finding a ring-less finger he saw a diamond big enough to feed a small country.

"Return to your party, folks."

"Yes, sir," Mr. Smith complied.

I slipped my ring off my finger and stashed it back in my clutch that I had dropped at some point Mr. Smith and I entered the storage room. Silently he walked me to coat check where I retrieved my mink wrap, and then he led me to the front doors of the convention center.

"You know what to do if you need me," I said.

"I need you now."

I smiled and cupped his cheek. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Smith. I'll be in touch."

"At least…let me buy you dinner."

His persistence was sweet but partly annoying.

"I really do have to get back," my words were final.

"Are you running from someone?"

I shook my head. But that wasn't the truth. I was always running from someone. I pecked his lips. "Good night, Mr. Smith."

* * *

**A week later…**

He was reading James Patterson's latest novel when the door to his bedroom swung open. Briefly taking his eyes off the page in front of him, he stared at his angel. She had converted another one of his button downs into a nightgown. She had one hand hidden behind her back while the other clutched the doorknob.

"Are you busy?" she asked.

"No, just reading. What's behind your back?"

"Something I was hoping we could watch together."

He sighed inwardly. He didn't want to watch a movie that's why he was reading, but he couldn't even say he had been doing that successfully because his thoughts were on last week, and he was back in Rhode Island having the best fuck of his life. That guilty twinge which had become his new drinking buddy hadn't been as loud and irritating this time around, but it was still a presence that made his heart beat faster. Especially when he was alone with his angel.

He had given himself a day to recuperate and surgically implant his head back on straight, before his resolve weakened and he logged on to his Venus Dolls account to send another email. As he impatiently waited for pages to load, he discovered, to his horror, that B had deleted her profile and left no way to contact her.

Apart from blinding anger, Mr. Smith didn't know how to react to this plot twist. B had assured him that if he wanted to see her again all he had to do was contact her. Why would she tell him to do that and then delete her profile and not even leave him a farewell message or a way to get in touch with her? Okay, all right she was a whore, although he didn't view her as one, but that didn't endear anyone to her. To him, she wasn't a prostitute, a high dollar hooker, or a hoe. She had been a woman who made him feel things that were dead in his marriage, in his life overall. Mr. Smith wouldn't say she had become a friend because he knew next to nothing about her other than how she tasted on his tongue, and the sounds she made when he worked her body as if he fashioned her from his own brand of clay. He should be considering her disappearance from his life as a blessing because he very well could have destroyed his world just to feel her on his dick for all eternity.

His angel cleared her throat once it became apparent he had spaced out again. He placed the novel on the bedside table and then tapped the spot next to him.

She smiled and loaded the DVD into their flat screen and then climbed up on the bed, snuggling into his chest. She smelled how angels smelled and it was enough to bring a tiny smile to his face, but that smile became obsolete the second he remembered the heady perfume that spilled from between B's thighs.

* * *

**Two days post Rhode Island…in another place…**

The _Pest_ stood in the kitchen doorway gawking at me as I fixed myself a late night snack. Ever since I returned from my impromptu trip to Rhode Island he had been on my short and curlies like an infection, and I couldn't shake him.

"Yes, dear?" I said somewhat snidely as I lathered a slice of raisin bread with mayonnaise.

"I was just watching you. Is that a problem?"

"Only if you're looking for something to accuse me of."

Things were quiet for a while and I took the time to add thinly cut slices of roasted turkey and salami on my raisin bread. I had weird eating habits, so sue me.

The _Pest_ finally stopped blocking the door and walked to the other side of the massive center island. He rested his elbows on the granite surface and I felt those penetrating orbs of his on me as if he had X-ray vision like Superman.

"I talked to Francine and she said that the two of you didn't meet up at Carlyle's for drinks the night you went missing for six hours."

I didn't miss a beat as I fixed my sandwich. I did make eye contact with the _Pest_. "Maybe you've forgotten but Francine is eighty years old and suffers from dementia. I doubt she would remember."

Francine Fairbanks was one of the few women I've befriended in this exclusive and upscale neighborhood where I stored my stilettos. I did use her as a scapegoat from time to time when I needed a ready excuse for why I wasn't where I said I would be. The Pest was sharp and quick and I knew I would need to find another conduit for my lies, but I was taking a pause from my double life to get my real life back on track.

Deleting my Venus Dolls profile was one of the hardest yet easiest things to do. I felt a connection building between myself and Mr. Smith and I needed to put a stop to it before things snowballed out of control. Well, more than they already had. I never crossed state lines for some dick before and the minute I did that I knew I was just two seconds away from being caught up, and I needed to do the right thing and let Mr. Smith go.

I did want to tell him what an impact he made on my life in such a short amount of time. I did want to say that maybe in another lifetime I would have liked to get to know him, become friends. But he had his life, I had mine, and they were clashing with reality. The reality of our situation was that we were two miserably married people who engaged in one of the deadliest games on earth that sometimes had tragic results. It was best to end things now rather than to read about ourselves in the paper. Things had a way of becoming full circle.

The _Pest_ was astute and knew I was lying but he had no way to prove it. I knew how to cover my tracks and the only thing he'd find was himself being stupid.

"The mileage on your Benz went up, which is odd because you hardly go anywhere."

Now my heart was thumping but only out of aggravation. "So what? What are you trying to accuse me of?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I just want the truth. Do you want out of this marriage?"

"No."

"Then act like it! You don't talk to me anymore. You treat me like I get on your nerves and I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with some times but…I don't deserve the way you've been treating me."

He had a point. I could say I'm sorry and promise to do better, but inevitably we would just end up right back here. I guess I took too long to respond because the _Pest_ stormed out of the kitchen. I was tempted to go after him, but I was hungry.

I stared at the unfinished product of my work, and pouted. I knew I had to make things right and recommit to my marriage. The Pest had been good to me despite the things I've said and done, and the way I treated him. Hot one minute, cold the next.

Finding him wasn't difficult. He was in the parlor helping himself to a drink. I walked up behind him and wound my arms around his waist and squeezed him.

"I'm committed to you, you know that," I tried to reassure him and myself. I knew my personality and how I was and admittedly no one could deal with me the way he could. "You know I love you."

He sighed and nodded his head. "I love you, too. And whatever you've done or didn't do…I know you did it for a reason. But I will kill you if you break my heart. Just so we're clear."

I snorted. "Yes, sir."

* * *

**Present time….**

"You look shocked."

And he was shocked. There playing out on their 72 inch flat screen was himself at the Riverside Manor between B's legs humping her like there was no tomorrow, like he would never get the chance to have sex ever again in his life.

"How did you get this videotape?" he muttered in disbelief.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" his angel answered his question by posing one of her own.

He merely blinked unable to articulate the thoughts buzzing around in his head. She had the room bugged? "Can you explain…" he tried.

"I'm not the one who needs to explain anything," she interrupted. "You think I wouldn't find out that my husband has been going behind my back to fancy hotels and fucking …his wife."

She grinned then and then climbed on his lap and kissed his slightly parted lips. When she pulled back "Mr. Smith" had finally taken his eyes off the self-made porno and focused them on his wife. His angel.

He relaxed against the headboard and squeezed her thighs. "You're breaking character, Bonnie. My sweet angel would never watch a porno let alone have herself tapped."

Bonnie looked over her shoulder and saw herself riding her husband like she was a cowgirl. Role playing was something they had been doing for the last three years. Each time giving themselves new identities and personalities to match for a period of three to six weeks.

During their first role play her husband had been a down and out war veteran looking to get back on his feet, and Bonnie had offered him a landscaping position where he not only trimmed the botanical garden, but her garden as well. Then she had taken on the role as the struggling college student who would do anything to pass her courses, but the dean was being obstinate, and threatened to put her on academic suspension. She used her wiles to get him to take pity out on her.

This time around Bonnie decided to up the ante by taking on more than one role. She literally became a virgin, a whore, and a bitch often swapping out one for the other at will. Her husband followed suit in that regard and became, at least to her, Mr. Sensitivity, Mr. Control, and The Asshole.

Being married for as long as they had it was agreed they needed a way to keep things fresh between them. Both abhorred stagnation of any kind so this avenue had been right up their alley.

Some couples went the open marriage route, but that wasn't an option for them. Inviting a third or fourth party into the fold complicated things when marriage by itself was hard work as it was. This was their vice and they took great pains to make sure it worked and that those in their close circle didn't discover "their secret".

Did Bonnie find it weird that from time to time she would get jealous of herself when her husband would remain in character and treat her like he was imaging he could be with her other self? It was ridiculous, but added a different kind of spice to the mix which made their sex life off the charts.

"You never cease to surprise me," her husband said and kissed her on the neck. "I don't know what version of you I'm going to encounter day to day, hour by hour. The docile and passionless housewife or that evil witch who loves to make me miserable."

"You told me not to go easy on you this time around," Bonnie patiently reminded her husband.

He flipped their positions until she was pinned under him, her wrists trapped in his hands. "So who should I let out right now? Mr. Smith or Sir?"

Bonnie shrugged. "Both of them are exceptional but I miss my husband. My _real _husband. Mr..."

He silenced the rest of her sentence with a searing kiss, and proceeded to show her exactly who was in control of this ship.

**THE END**

**A/N: Yep, the whole time Bonnie and her husband were role playing. They were all the characters I mentioned. I've decided not to divulge Mr. Smith's/Sir/Bonnie's husband's identity not because I don't want to disappoint anyone, although that's a tiny part of the reason, but this is the first story I've written where I wanted you guys to picture who you wanted the characters identities to be without me having to tell you. But if you'd like to know who I had in mind, you can PM me, and for those who can't, and you'd like to know, if you have a tumblr account you can send me an ask, and I'll be sure to reply. My tumblr url is notanotherlapislove. All right guys, I'm out. Thanks so much for reading and leaving me your theories, those were exciting to read! I'm off to figure out another way to keep your heads spinning. Love you!**


End file.
